


A wild river to take you home

by Roisin_19



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will Graham, Dreams and Nightmares, Fantasizing, Hallucinations, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Pining, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sad Will Graham, Sassy Will Graham, Slow Burn, slightly paranormal, there's a twist at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roisin_19/pseuds/Roisin_19
Summary: Will wakes up after the fall in a strange room not knowing where he is or how he got there. After looking around the unknown house he cannot find Hannibal anywhere. Will becomes worried at where he could be after reading an ominous note. With many strange 'dreams' and things in the house not always making sense, Will decides to keep a diary in hopes to make sense of it all. Will Hannibal be reunited with Will, or is there something else going on entirely out of their control? Either way, nothing will stop Will from finding Hannibal.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. with downcast eyes and a sorrowing face

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is my first time writing a much longer series and I've had a lot of fun doing this first chapter. Just a quick mention that if my dating is wrong do let me know so I can correct it for you. Thank you for reading and keep safe x

For someone who was experienced with waking up in unfamiliar places, Will was surprised at his own astonishment when he found himself in a completely unfamiliar room alone. He was lying on a bed with only the gentle haze of golden light seeping through the curtains to assure him he didn’t recognise the room. The smell of pine was the only comfort. The room appeared small although the shadows were most likely obscuring its true size. That and the fact his vision was blurring most of it. It was the type of blur you get after opening your eyes for the first time, where the world of the womb merges with the world outside it, unsure if it is a dream or reality. Will wasn’t certain if he was dreaming right now. His senses were awake, he could feel the soft cotton underneath him and hear faint echoes of birds singing outside. He tried to lift himself off the bed, but a sharp pain in his shoulder and spine pulled him back down on the mattress. A croaky groan escaped his dry throat. His head started to throb. The feeling of blood rushing back through his veins and brain. It was painful. But not as painful as the sudden burning sensation in his cheek. It was swollen and sensitive, even the gentle touch of the air made him wince in pain. The blur of his vision enveloped his eyes before he shut them once more, giving into the sweet dark calling of sleep.

_

This time Will was no longer surprised when he fluttered his eyes open to be greeted by the same room as he had before. Although a stronger light illuminated the walls and furnishings. A tall brass lamp in the corner of the room was on allowing Will to have a better look at where he was. It was a bedroom. That much was evident. Quite where that bedroom was, less so. His attention was caught by a chair perched in the middle of the room. There were bloodstains at its feet while crumpled up clothes sat in it also drenched with blood. _They’re my clothes_. Will suddenly became very aware of whose blood it was that now decorated the floor and furnishings. Many flashes of memories appeared in his mind; a cliff, a knife, a throat. Water. He tilted his head towards his body and his eyes went wide at the acknowledgement that he was naked. Bandages caressed his body tightly, around his stomach and ribs, up round his shoulder wound round his chest. The scar on his pale belly stared back at him. His neck could no longer take the strain and gave up flopping his head back onto the pillow. His body started to ache again at being awake. He needed something for the pulsing in his muscles. He tried to call out.

“Ha…Han…Hanni...bal” Will squeaked before he gave a dry scream. Only parts of it vocalised. Using his mouth hurt considerably more than anything else in his body. He felt immediate regret after the last syllable as searing heat and a needling pain entered his cheek. He closed his eyes tight to stop himself from making it any worse. He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before he fell back to sleep in hopes that he might never wake up again.

_

No such thing happened. Will opened his eyes for a third time, once again greeted by the bedroom he didn’t recognise. There was no blur in his vision this time, nor any aching in his body. He simply felt unrested despite his current circumstances. His mind too was far more stable. No throbbing or flashing of memories. He breathed evenly and deeply as he lay on the bed. He wondered how long he had been asleep for. He wondered about many things. Then he worried about them. Hannibal must have brought them to this place, maybe another one of his safehouses. Or he evicted the previous owners. He wouldn’t put it past him. Will was able to lift himself to a sitting position, his body no longer held in the taught bandages. _A long time then._ Hannibal must have enjoyed looking after Will like this. He certainly enjoyed caring for his hands after Randal Tier, who knows what sonnet he’s composed to commemorate this moment. Which begged the question. Where was Hannibal? Will half expected him to be sitting on the bed when he awoke. He looked to his right and the strange chair still sat in the middle of the room. The blood was gone along with the clothes, one might not have even known there was such an occurrence, there were no stains. In its place were perfectly folded clothes. Waiting. Will always found himself impressed when Hannibal was able to keep a crime scene so clean. He was no less impressed at this. He let himself ponder the idea that Hannibal sat in that chair watching Will sleep. _I don’t want to know where you are. I don’t want to think about you anymore._ His words seeped back into his ears, how gently and how cruelly he spoke them. He decided he didn’t like the idea anymore. Instead he needed to find Hannibal, find out what he had missed and catch up on the plan. No doubt Chiyo was involved. He got off the bed and dressed himself in the clothes. The shirt wasn’t the easiest thing to put on, but he was glad his body allowed him to do it without any assistance.

He opened the bedroom door into a quaint country style living-dining room. An archway just about let him peek at the blue wooden cabinets of the kitchen. It felt very simple for Hannibal. A little too normal. Will felt like Hannibal’s flare was missing from the décor. Perhaps he hadn’t the time to make it into one of the rooms of his Mind palace. The antler chandelier gave a quiet glow to the room showing Will that a fresh cup of tea and a newspaper were lying in wait on the coffee table. Steam was still wafting off the surface of the liquid. He looked around the rest of the room to make sure Hannibal wasn’t teasing him in the shadows. But unless he was hiding behind a grandfather clock or a bookcase, he was not in the room much to Will’s disappointment. His mind taunted him with the image of Hannibal sitting in the armchair by the bookcase, the lamp overhead illuminating his book as he gently turns the pages. He wished he could hear his voice giving some witty comment about his appearance. Maybe just to ask if he slept well. The sound of his own sigh confirmed his disappointment. He sat himself down on the sofa and picked up the tea cup. It smelt sweet, almost as if the liquid should have been pink. He sipped it carefully not wanting to irritate the wound on his cheek. It tasted just as sweet as it smelt. Not sugary, but a natural sweetness like the juices of the ripest peaches freshly picked or of figs freshly cut on a summer’s day, basking in the rays of sunlight. It was heavenly. He took one more sip before setting the cup back down and picking up the newspaper before him. He anticipated to see his and Hannibal’s faces plastered over the front cover with that annoying bold font only sensationalist newspapers seem to have. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved to be wrong. He was in a way, but one can never fully trust their senses when on the run from the FBI. He looked to the date of when the newspaper was published; September 10th 2015.

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since they killed Dolarhyde. Since their triumph over the Dragon. He had left Hannibal alone for two weeks. Will couldn’t quite believe that it had been that long, he thought he could still smell the scent of freshly fallen blood. What astonished him even more was the fact that they hadn’t been apprehended by the FBI in all that time. Will was sure a manhunt would have ensued the minute Jack realised that neither one of them were to be seen, that they had tricked him. Not that Will intended it as a trick at the time. It all seemed so fluid. No one moment was rooted in its own place in time. No one event or motivation seemed its own. And with such a loss of important time, Will felt even more out of place. He silently cursed himself for not being conscious during those moments of chase, to have made Hannibal do it all himself, burdening him. Perhaps he can make it up to him. Will flicked through the newspaper to make sure there was no trace of them among the pages. He let out a sigh when the only words he read were terrorism, failing economy and celebrity. Was the world really that unchanging? That unbothered by their story? Will felt very insignificant in that moment. _I guess I missed it all._ Will tossed the paper back onto the table and slumped into the sofa. He suddenly felt very alone in the silence of the strange house with only the ticking of the clock and his own breath for company. His eyes wondered around the room again. He noticed a small piano tucked into a corner, it reminded him of his own pathetic piano back in Wolftrap. He wondered if the frail thing still worked or if it needed tuning. Not that he knew how to tune a piano. Further away was a modest oak dining table and chairs. There was no ornate table presentation on the otherwise sleek wood. He realised why he didn’t like the house very much. He looked to the wall in front of him. There was no TV but there was a radio on top of a mahogany cabinet. A waterfall glass vase stood tall next to it. The flowers were bright and lively compared to the dark backdrop of the room. Wine red roses, the purple ombre of the crocus petals, they seemed lilac against the rich purple of iris and violets while the innocent white lilies and larkspur shone against the dark leaves and stems. It seemed to have taken all the beauty of the room for itself.

There was a window above the cabinet. Will rose from his seat to peer at his surroundings. He wondered how far away they were from Baltimore. Or maybe they weren’t that far away at all. The view didn’t clarify which was right. A large patch of greying grass outstretched to an overbearing forest. There were trees upon trees, huge dark cypresses that looked like they were touching the sky. A thick fog hung around the bases of their trunks obscuring anything beyond them while the sky was one large grey cloud. Will couldn’t see the sun. If it wasn’t for the dirt path leading from the house into the forest, Will would have felt very claustrophobic from the looming shadows of the cypresses. Everything seemed drab and grey. _Maybe it’s still Virginia_. It was always cold and grey in the Virginian winter and this seemed no less. Just beneath the window on the porch were two rocking chairs. They looked lonely too. Will felt another sigh rise in his chest. His breath fogged up the window. He looked to his left toward the ancient grandfather clock. It ticked to half seven. Morning or evening wasn’t so clear. From the darkening of the clouds he guessed evening. He supposed he’d find out. Will looked back out the window to the dusty path. There appeared to be no fresh tire tracks, assuming they had a car. Will smiled ever so slightly.

Hannibal’s home. Like Will, he must be sleeping most of the days exhausted from his injuries. Although Will felt quite fresh considering he had fallen from a cliff. Well, he has had two weeks to recover. He doubted Hannibal had such a luxury. He must have been running on adrenaline trying to get himself and Will to safety. He deserves to sleep for an eternity. Nevertheless, Will decided he would find where he was sleeping even if it meant waking him up. He pulled himself away from the window to climb the wooden stairs. There was another window at the base of them. He took a look out the back before starting his search. It seemed the back mostly mirrored the front with the exception of a missing path. It appeared the house was encircled by a field and the massive forest. The trees at the back of the house seemed darker, either by design or from unknown shadows. They were almost black. In the corner of his eye he caught the back of a garage. Something else to explore for another day. He really needed to have a good look at the entire house and become familiar with everything. He assumed that they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. He headed up the stairs which creaked and strained with every step. It made Will wonder how old the house was. On the landing was a small table of ornately carved wood with a beautiful polished glaze. Very Louis XVI. Will was sure he had seen that somewhere in a magazine once. On top of the table was a bowl. It was filled with pomegranates and peacock feathers. It brought a smile to Will’s otherwise melancholy face. It made the house feel more like Hannibal, even if it was just one bowl. Looking away from the small piece of Hannibal, Will found himself faced with three doors. One of them led to Hannibal.

He opened the door to his right first. It was the bathroom, a neat little room with white tiling and delicate little roses on them. He opened the next door down to a bedroom that was eerily familiar. There was a white metal framed double bed with blue sheets. The pillows had a red floral pattern. Next to it was a white wooden bedside table. He entered the room and saw a white chest of draws with various objects on it. Hooks were above it but nothing hung on them. He walked towards the bed and placed his hands on the cold metal bedframe. There was a piece of leather on the bed. Will picked it up to inspect it. He realised that it was antler velvet. It still smelt like the forest. Despite the nicety of the room it was not the one he was looking for. And he was sure that Hannibal had not furnished this room. It reminded him of Abigail despite never setting foot in her bedroom. The innocence of it perhaps brought to mind his imago, even if that vision was as far away from the truth as possible. Even after all those years it still hurt to think of her. He still wasn’t sure which part of it hurt the most. Will decided that it was a good idea to not set foot in this room very often if it could be avoided, and upon taking his advice he left the room shutting the door behind him.

Only one door left. Will took a deep breath before walking up to it. He was almost reluctant to open it. He wanted to know what he was going to say, what he was going to do when Hannibal saw him. He wanted to predict the conversation and catch Hannibal off guard. He wanted to be his cunning boy again. But Will reminded himself that there was little one could do to catch Hannibal Lecter off guard. It didn’t stop him from smiling as he opened the door.

Bathed in golden rays of sunlight was a sleeping Hannibal perfectly curled up in satin sheets on a large bed. Plenty of room for two. An unconscious smile rest on his face as his body rose and fell as he breathed so gently, so serenely. He was so peaceful. So content in the world of sleep, Will was sure that nothing in the world could disturb Hannibal’s plentiful rest. His skin was glorious. A perfect shade of gold with glistening refractions of sunlight you could mistake his skin for diamonds, yet the smoothness resembled the finest opal. His gentle inhales and exhales were the only sounds in the room. It was beautiful. Perfectly so. Will wanted nothing more than to slip right under the silken sea to the siren that lay beneath the waves. But he just stood there, unable to bring himself to break the perfect picture before him. He closed his eyes and sang his name.

“Hannibal”

What Will had prepared for was for Hannibal to answer back, to echo back his name in a sleepy tone and when he opened his eyes to be greeted by Hannibal’s drowsy ones. What Will was not prepared for was for Hannibal to not answer back. And what he was even less prepared for was to open his eyes and see an empty bed with dark blue cotton sheets against an even darker blue wall. There was no sunlight. Only a morbid grey light that hung about the room, just about peeking through the bottom of the closed curtains. The only vibrancy in the room was an untasteful modern art picture of a red circle. And not a very good one. But what was even worse was that the room was devoid of all life. More importantly Hannibal’s life. Will had hallucinated. He couldn’t quite believe he would perform such a cruel act upon himself, why he would allow himself to be punished like that. But like many times before, Will felt like his mind no longer belonged to him. Will was so sure that Hannibal was going to be in the room, he had to be, there was practically nowhere else he could be.

Unless Hannibal isn’t home. Unless Hannibal never intended to stay home. Everything yet nothing pointed to Hannibal being there. And for Will, it was another abandonment he couldn’t quite accept. He couldn’t even stop the unwanted tears from smearing his face and seeping into his cut cheek. _Please, not you too._ Will shakily walked over to the bed and sat down where he saw Hannibal sleeping. Will had never really been that much of a man of god, but in that moment, he found himself pleading with anything that would listen to his woeful cries of anguish, of loss. _Where did you go? Why did you go? I’m awake now, come back._ Will stroked the soft brush cotton sheets, disappointed they weren’t Italian silk. So perfectly did he resemble the woeful sailor’s wife, steadfast in her waiting for her tormented sailor to return home from the harsh and unforgiving sea, with his tears streaming down his cheeks to the place where he once rest. Every night the watchful wife would raise her palms to the heavens begging all to bring her lover back to her safe embrace, never resting, always prepared with her mourner’s veil. Never sure if her prayers are heard, her lovely streaming hair falling with her tears. He cried himself sick, his grip tightening on the sheets unknowing if Hannibal was ever in them. He let himself believe that he had. He mourned the loss of their reunion. His mind tormented him with possibilities; Hannibal could have left with a cold heart after Will hurled them off a cliff to death. He could be dead, gone to die somewhere in that miserable forest alone not wanting to bring the painful truth so soon. _Maybe he’s just gone to get some supplies for us. And died._ Will held his breath to stop crying and to shift his focus back to the present. _Maybe we’re not out of the woods yet._ Will faltered at his own pun unable to suppress his saddened laugh. The sound of his own laugh seemed to help him gather himself together and take back control of his thoughts. Will took a deep breath and tried to rationalise out his situation. From the freshly brewed tea downstairs, Will took an educated guess that Hannibal had just left the house on foot before Will woke up, meaning he was alive. He mustn’t have gone to any crowded locations for shopping otherwise he could have taken a car, Will guessed it was a long way to civilisation. Maybe he’s just gone for walk. Even cannibals go for walks. He sighed and chuckled at his unnecessary panic. No one’s going to catch him he thought. No one has ever caught Hannibal Lecter. Although Will felt a little better after rationalising, he felt very tired too. He still felt sick after his violent attack of tears. He looked at the empty bed. Maybe another small sleep wouldn’t do him any harm. Maybe when he wakes up, he’ll have company. Will laid his body on the bed and let himself sink into the soft mattress which slowly caressed his body and held his perfect sleeping frame.

At first Will heard the chirpings of larks fill the air which were quickly drowned out by the sound of waves and water. He could hear something strike the water like a paddle; the rhythmic sound was so relaxing he felt little electric tingles in his cranium like fairies were dancing in his hair. The sudden creaking of wood caught him off guard. When he could see he awoke to a grey sky looking back. The salty smell of the water filled his nostrils. He looked to his right and saw wood with faded red paint. He was on a boat. He sat up too quickly making him go dizzy.

“Woah, don’t get up so fast you’ll make yourself sick. Just take your time. You got all the time in the world.” A voice told him, gentle yet firm in its words. Like a father softly scolding his son to better him.

When the world stopped spinning, Will looked in front of him to see where the voice came from. An old man sat in front on him rowing their little boat in an even rhythm, a curious smile on his face while a well-worn cap obscured his eyes.

“Who are you?” Will asked, unsure if he was in any state to try and drown the man and commandeer the boat for himself. Despite his age, he looked far too large for anything like that.

“Outis. It’s Greek.” Outis replied.

“Where are you taking me?” Will asked, a more demanding tone taking hold.

“I’m not going to hurt you Will. Quite the opposite. I’m here to help.” Outis calmly replied.

“That doesn’t answer my question” Will retorted.

“Never do.”

They sat unspeaking for a little while, only the sounds of the oars hitting the water filled the never-ending space around them. Will looked around and saw they were making their way down a huge river; he could hardly see the banks on either side it was so wide. There was a strange film on the water almost like a layer of iridescent oil. A fog hung all around. It smelt like sweet burning cypress wood and frankincense.

“Where is Hannibal?” Will eventually asked.

“You are no ordinary man Mr Graham. You are cunning. Almost as cunning as me. That’ll keep you out of trouble, or heap more upon our heads.” Outis chuckled.

“We are not the same” Will bluntly replied.

Outis looked out to the distance for a moment. “No. I suppose we are not.”

Will heard a whisper in his ears. The voice felt very far away as if the wind had brought it to him. He couldn’t make out what it was trying to say, only parts of words and syllables made it through. The whisper grew as more voices joined it, wailings and echoes of cries permeated the air growing loud and then quiet over and over. Incoherent sounds from men and women filled his brain causing him to put his hands over his ears to stop them in vain. But one voice sang through the layers of sounds. A man’s voice. Will looked around the river but only mist and trees presented themselves. Outis continued to row as if nothing unusual was happening. Will could see he had his lips pursed as if he was whistling but he couldn’t hear him, only the constant deathly voices buzzing in his brain. Will looked behind him, there was an embankment in the distance. A huge shadow looming over it. A man stood by the embankment. Will could barely see him but he was sure he recognised the shadowy figure.

“Hannibal” Will shouted across the water. He didn’t move.

“I would have taken both of you, but she was adamant that I only took you. I’m not sure she will ever let him cross the river. Perhaps you can persuade her, my silver tongue alone has not been enough. I am on your side.” Outis said, his words as clear as a lion’s roar.

Will wanted to ask who had such power over Hannibal. Who got to decide this, why they had decided it? But his head was pounding and spinning. He could feel himself slipping out of consciousness and unwillingly fell into the back of the boat before his vision faded to black.

Will woke drenched in sweaty fear, desperately gasping for air as if his lungs were filled with water. His body shook uncontrollably, the air was so cold on his burning skin. He took many deep breathes as best he could to calm himself down. It had been a long time since he had woken up with such fear after a dream. When he could finally hear himself think again instead of his panicked breathes, he reached to the bedside table and looked at the clock. It read 5:30am. _Shit._ Will had been asleep for much longer than he wanted. Will suddenly reached for the other side of the bed twisting his body furiously around to look at it with great anticipation. It was barren. There was no sleeping Hannibal by his side. _Shit, again._ Will took a deep deliberate breath through his nose. He stank. His clothes were absolutely soaked. He needed to shower and change the sheets. Will got off the bed and headed for the bathroom. As he waited for the water to get warm, he saw a small watercolour painting hanging above the toilet. It was of a bright and pleasant cottage with a thatched room and blankets of flowers around it. Wisteria grew vibrant against the stonework. It looked familiar, and oh so happy. He almost expected a vicar and his wife to be standing at the door while children played in the foreground picking flowers. he sighed at the happy little painting. He wondered if happy things were happy, because they stole the happiness of others. That they weren’t meant to make others happy, only that they are so. Will wished he could steal some happiness himself. He took a look at himself in the mirror before stepping into the shower, he looked very tired and pale. The wound on his cheek made him look even worse as it hadn’t scarred over. It seemed as red and open as the day he first received it. At least it wasn’t sore.

After his shower he wrapped himself up in the dressing gown hung up on the door and headed downstairs to the little bedroom he first found himself in to get some fresh clothes. As he reached the living room, he noticed that the lamp by the bookcase was on and the chandelier was off. Will did not remember touching either appliances. He looked to the armchair and gasped slightly at what he saw. A note sat upright on the seat. A note he was sure was not there at 7pm. He rushed to the chair and swooped up the note tearing at the envelope to the message inside. The handwriting was all he needed to know that it was Hannibal. Will greedily read the words neatly written on the card.

_My dearest Will,_

_One day I will return to you. If not in this life, then the next._

_Forever yours,_

_Hannibal Lecter_

Will froze at what he read. He read it again. And again. Then he stopped reading all together. His hands dropped into his lap along with the note. He didn’t know if he was going to scream or cry. Either one didn’t feel like enough to express what he felt. Crying won out as a tear dropped onto the note smudging the ‘er’ of ‘Lecter’. _What do you mean one day?_ Will felt like his stomach had dropped a thousand feet and plummeted to the bottom of the ocean. His face felt like Dolarhyde had stabbed it all over again except with a chainsaw rather than a tiny knife. Hannibal wasn’t home, nor was he going to be home for quite a while. Will wished he knew the true meaning behind the message, what Hannibal was planning for them, planning for himself. The note felt like it was insinuating something terribly morbid. There were so many possibilities, so many lines of probability, prediction and anticipation that Will just wept at them all. No matter what the truth was it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Hannibal to be here, with him in this lonely little house. For the first time in three years Will actually wanted Hannibal to be there, to hear his voice and know his presence. Will wanted control; Hannibal represented much of that inner desire. If Hannibal really was gone, then Will’s understanding of control was gone too. He was left with only confusion and defeat. With fear and disgust. Will was used to being alone, but never before had he felt a loneliness such as this. A miserable, wretched heart aching loneliness that only had one cure he could not have. A little voice in his head tried to tell him that Hannibal was alive, that he wouldn’t be abandoned like that and to stop getting ahead of himself. It was only tiny but he was glad at least someone thought so. And it was right of course, there were so many possibilities that focusing on only one would do no good. Will needed to calm down and look at things as they were and not what they could be. He looked ahead of him and saw the newspaper still on the table but the tea cup gone. Hannibal might be gone, but he at least he may not be caged. He squirmed at the idea of someone like Chilton or Bedeila getting another round of fame and fortune at Hannibal’s expense. He smiled when he remembered Chilton no longer had use of his hands, or his mouth. Will looked at the note one last time.

“Maybe you’re never coming back”. It hurt more to say out loud than Will wanted it to.

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his gown and went into the little bedroom to finally get changed. The room was much lighter now with the very early morning light coming through the curtains. The bed had tartan sheets, above it an oil painting of a stout stag and its mighty antlers. The auburns and browns of its fur stood out against the forest green wood panelling of the wall. He opened the wardrobe and redressed in more familiar clothes of his tartan shirt and chinos. He wished the back of the wardrobe lead to Hannibal. He closed the wardrobe doors and turned around. Behind the door was a desk with a single book and pen resting on it. Will closed the door and sat down at the well-loved desk. He ran his fingers down the moleskin notebook, tracing his fingers over the embroidery flower in the middle. Will recognised it. It was hellebore. _A plant used by the ancients as treatment for madness despite its toxicity._ Will could hear Hannibal’s nuances of each word in his head. He opened up the notebook and flicked through the numerous fresh blank pages. He wasn’t sure why but he found himself picking up the pen and taking off its lid, placing it at the start of a virgin line.

_Draw a clock for me Will._

The familiar motion took hold, but no clocks this time. 

It is 7:25am. I don’t know where I am. My name is Will Graham.

And I am alive.


	2. great tides of grief flowed in his heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tries to make sense of his situation while struggling with the idea that Hannibal might never be coming back

‘I remember the fall. I remember how the air sliced my body as I hung to you, buried myself in you and told myself to not let go. If I let go, I could lose you again. I can still feel myself hitting the cold water, how it penetrated every part of me but still I didn’t let go. I can’t be sure how far we sunk. All I saw was black, endless tides of black. It was so cold. But you were warm. Or your blood was. I just shut my eyes and told myself to die. I thought about putting my hand over your mouth and pinching your nose to make sure you did too. But that would have meant letting go and I didn’t want to. I don’t think you wanted to either. I could feel your arms on my back, in that effortless floating way when you’re underwater. Where everything is fluid yet resistant like it’s trying to tell you to get out, you’re not supposed to be here. I couldn’t hear anything; water was in my ears flooding out all sound. Then I just stopped feeling all together. As if everything had stopped, atoms and particles stood still in shock. At some point I wasn’t conscious, but before that I was in that state in between. I knew I was about to go unconscious but, I was aware of it. Allowing of it. I was so tired I let it happen. Then I woke up here. Wherever here is. In this room, in this house. Is it your house? Stupid question. You brought me here didn’t you. I can’t imagine anyone else would have the patients to deal with me right now. Why did you keep us alive? To gloat, out of spite? I didn’t really want to kill you. It didn’t feel like killing you. It just felt…like I was supposed to. I can hear you now, you start your sentences a little higher pitched when you’re annoyed and pout your lips when you’re trying to not be rude. You wouldn’t agree with me. But none of it matters because you’re not here. I got your note. It made me cry. Did you want it to make me cry? Or was that my choice, you simply told the truth. I hope you do come back. I can’t be certain what is motivating me to so desperately want you back but, I do. I need you Hannibal. I want you here. But I’m never allowed what I want am I? If you’re dead, then I hope you’re happy with yourself. I hope you got the last laugh of leaving me alone, pining for you, crying for you and writing in this stupid book in case you magically read it. If you’re dead then I’m killing Bedelia. And Jack. And Alana. Then myself. Would that be a good enough show for you? I’m sorry. No, I’m not sorry, you can’t hear me.

This just isn’t what I imagined. I don’t know what I imagined really. But it wasn’t this. Now I have to deal with it. I have to deal with you, with us, all over again. The minute I think I know you, think I have some semblance of control, something happens and I’m back to the start. Back in that chair in your office. It’s not you leaving that hurts. I don’t actually mind that you’ve gone, I did the same to you. It’s not knowing, just not knowing that hurts. In a way a lie would have been better than this. Anything. It’s lonely here. God what am I like I’ve been awake for less than 24 hours and I’m already complaining. I do hope you’re not dead. I really do Hannibal. Why can’t you cross the river? Who won’t let you? I had a dream that I was crossing a river in this tiny shabby boat, an old man was rowing it for me. He kind of reminded me of you because he wouldn’t answer my questions. The river was huge, it was a strange colour too. Not blue as such more like someone had put blue dye in it to make it that colour. I looked behind me and I knew you were standing on the embankment there, I couldn’t see your face but I knew it was you. The old man, Outis he said his name was, told me that she wouldn’t let you cross the river otherwise he would have taken both of us. He said he was on our side. Whatever side that is. Why won’t she let you cross Hannibal? Why am I crossing a river anyway? I’m sure you’d have your theories. Did you like our sessions back in Baltimore? Where we’d just talk, bounce back ideas, where you’d make me think things and say things. Where I made you do the same. I never told you but I liked them. They made me feel calm, like the whole world was just in that office and we were the only two people in it. It was like a sanctuary, felt like I was confessing all my sins and you were going to absolve me of it all. In your own way you did.

But now I’m here without you. I don’t like it. Do you hate being without me too? Do you think we’ll get caught and Uncle Jack will tell us off? Was that me saying that or you? At this stage I don’t know what is me and what isn’t. I haven’t been myself for a very long time. Please do come back soon Hannibal. I’ll be patient for you. I promise.’

Will threw the pen onto the desk and sighed looking at the pages he had filled with his grief. He didn’t know what to feel, how to feel. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to feel. He looked to his right out the window and saw that the world was much lighter now with a soft grey sky, small slits of light permeating parts of the cloud. He wondered what time it was. He looked back to the book and slammed it shut pretending that he never wrote in it and went into the living room. The old clock showed it was half two. The room looked larger with the natural light pouring in from every angle. The forest looked less dreadful too with the trees appearing healthier than before. Will stood there for a moment before grabbing a coat and cap, hanging by the front door to go for a walk. Fresh air always did him good. The key rested on the cabinet and as Will picked it up, he saw the bottom of it was shaped into a stag’s head with little engraved fur patches and eyes. He couldn’t help himself as he shook his head closing the front door behind him. He decided to follow the path as much as he could, he didn’t want to get lost and run the risk of someone getting a good look at him as he asked for directions. His scar stood out like a bad 80’s horror movie. The more we wandered, the more he started to like the forest. It smelt wonderful, the sweetness of the soft wood all around him along with many beautiful flowers. The trunks of the trees were huge like nothing he had ever seen before, even the new growths seemed massive compared to the ones outside his home. It made Will wonder if he was in a foreign country. Or maybe a far away state. There were no trees like this in Virginia to his knowledge. Not that he had really explored the whole of Virginia that much. He walked and walked, hearing the crunching of leaves and branches underneath his feet and the chirping of birds high up. Not even the mist could ruin his tranquillity, although it did obscure his vision a little. Suddenly the snapping of a branch made him whip around to see who was behind him. He felt himself go defensive within the blink of an eye, which changed to worry and embarrassment when he did.

“Hello.” Said the little voice behind him.

“Hi.” Will said back.

A little girl, no more than 5, with long curly brown hair and small blue eyes looked up at Will. Unafraid and swinging her body side to side. Slight panic rose in Will’s chest at the sight of her. Little girls seldom walked in forests alone, and Will didn’t want the pleasure of having to deal with her parents.

“I like your hat” Said the little girl.

“Thank you.” Replied Will. “Where’s your Mum?” he asked, hoping that he wouldn’t see for himself.

“I don’t have a Mum yet.” The girl said rather cheerfully.

Will took that to mean she was an orphan, or at least her mother had died. Will felt his empathy sweeping over him listening to the little girl. All too well did he understand how she felt and how much he wished he could make it all go away.

“I don’t have a Mum either.” Will slowly told her.

“It’s ok, it’s normal. Everyone I know doesn’t have a Mum.” the little girl said without hesitation.

Orphan Will thought. There must be an orphanage nearby which took Will by surprise, he didn’t think it the greatest of locations to keep an eye on children.

“Should you be here by yourself?” Will asked with a suggestive tone. He thought if there were no parents to scold her, then he could at least try to guilt her into going back home.

“No. I’m not really supposed to be here.” Confessed the little girl, putting her head down “I don’t like being around the other children so I run away sometimes. But they always catch me.” Revealed the girl. Will understood the feeling.

“Well, it’s not safe to be here by yourself. And if you don’t want to get caught then you should head back home before they realise, you’re gone. It’s what I’d do anyway.” Will told her. As pleasant as the young girl was, he didn’t really want to be caught talking to her. For any reason.

“Ok. I guess you’re right. Thanks for the tip mister. Bye.” The little girl departed cheerfully, skipping away into the depths of the forest before the mist ate her up.

Will let go of a breath he didn’t realise he was holding on to. He was relieved to be left alone. Ironically. Perhaps sticking to the path wasn’t such a good idea after all, now that he was aware, he wasn’t alone. _Keep an eye on your goddamn kids._ Will ran his hand over his face. He sighed deeply before carrying on his walk. Just a little further he thought, he wanted to try and gage how deep the forest was and if he had any other neighbours nearby. Eventually the path became harder to make out until there was no path at all, just soil and grass. He looked around and seemed to be in the thick of the forest, he couldn’t see it ending from where he stood. _Very large then._ At least he didn’t meet anyone else along the way. She must have run far away from wherever she came from. Will hoped she was safe. As Will decided to head back for home a large and magnificent stag appeared from behind a tree, its head held high with the pride of a god. Its fur was thick, bushy almost, and dark. The shadows of the trees made it almost black. But its antlers shone high and mighty like they had been waxed or made of marble. Will couldn’t help but gawk at the thing. His eyes locked upon it. The stag turned its neck to face Will, its eyes locking in on him. Will became very aware he could be in danger. He wasn’t sure if the stag was readying itself to attack or trying to warn Will off with its stare. Will didn’t know if he should back away slowly or just wait for it to stamp on him. To Will’s relief a doe appeared from the same tree and slide itself under the neck of the stag, nuzzling ever so slightly into it. It was the complete opposite of the stag in every way. While the stag was stout and thick, the doe was slender and dainty. The light brown fur was almost blonde against the darkness of the stag and its eyes huge and round. Pathetic. Will studied the doe and found his mind fantasising about snapping its slim ankles. The doe came closer to Will, carefully treading across the forest floor towards him. Details came into focus like its long precious eyelashes and little wet nose. He wanted to dig out those glossy eyes and put them in a bowl. He couldn’t explain why he felt so vicious towards the sweet innocent thing, only that he did. He tried to crack a smile and make himself seem as small and soft as the doe.

“Don’t suppose you happen to know where Hannibal is?” Will asked it.

The doe flicked its ears and tilted its neck as if it was thinking about his question. _That’s a no then._ Suddenly the doe jumped at Will with its surprisingly powerful legs despite their size, making Will fall backwards in shock. _Fuck._ It jumped over his flailing falling body and ran into the mist of the forest leaving Will feeling like a fool lying on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He looked ahead of him and the stag had gone too. The pain of hitting the floor started to come into his back and his head. At least he hadn’t broken anything. He picked himself off the floor and swatted at himself to get any mud and leaves off his clothes. Thank god no one was around to see that; god forbid they might try and help! Will thought that was enough wandering for the day and took a brisk speed back to the house.

When Will got home he slammed the door behind him in a huff embarrassed that such a little creature had belittled him so. He threw of his hat and coat and wanted to go to bed; his back was hurting. But the scent of brie and freshly cooked bread filled his senses, pulling him away from everything else including his throbbing back. He looked to his left and confusion overtook his mind. A steaming bowl was set on the dining table with a side plate of bread and a tall glass of water. There was another place setting with a blue sparkling plate, golden cutlery and a space grey napkin. The plate was empty along with a barren wine glass. Will cautiously went up to the table his guard firmly up. His confusion was replaced with defence, wary of anyone that could be in the house. The last thing he wanted was to be attacked and dragged off to some filthy prison even further away from Hannibal. He still didn’t know what kind of danger he was in after all. He looked down at the soup; mushroom from the looks of it. He sat down at the table after surveying the room, still stiff and unsure. He picked up the golden spoon and took a mouthful of the soup. Salty brie and rich mushroom burst onto his pallet, perfectly balanced and textured. _Hannibal._ This must have been Hannibal. Will didn’t know how but it had to be. Will raised his head and has mouth gently opened as he saw Hannibal sitting at the other end of the table where the other place setting was. He too was happily eating the soup in his perfectly beautiful manner, even the way he held the spoon was magnificent to watch. Will was sure he could watch him eat forever. Hannibal raised his glorious head to Will and gave a great smile. His skin glowing and gorgeous. He was like a god.

“Is the soup better this time?” Hannibal teased.

Will didn’t answer for a moment. He managed to whisper “It’s wonderful”.

Hannibal’s eyes gave a thankful smile. “You best eat up then. You are going to need all of your strength when we are finally together again”. Hannibal replied before taking another mouthful of the wonderful soup.

“I threw us off a cliff” Will whispered.

Hannibal stopped eating his soup. He still smiled but Will knew all too well the faltering gesture of when Hannibal was disappointed. His eyes would dart down before he took an inhale of breath. His head would tilt ever so slightly to the side before he gave a smile.

“Yes. I suppose you did”. Hannibal replied with an even tone. No one else would have even guessed he was bothered.

“Are you angry at me?” Will asked, pronouncing every syllable with guilt.

Hannibal looked directly at Will as he said “I suppose you will find out when we meet again”.

Will looked into Hannibal eyes unblinking. He was mesmerised, he looked hypnotised. “Am I dreaming?” He asked.

“I don’t believe so.” Hannibal answered honestly.

Will’s face twitched before he asked “Why aren’t you with me?”.

Hannibal licked his lips looking away. He returned his deep serious gazed to Will and answered “I think I can say that if I could be with you Will, I would be. And I am confident that I am doing everything I can to make that happen, can you do the same for me? Could you be as patient for me as I was for you?”

Will could feel tears welling in his eyes, he looked down at his bowl. He didn’t answer Hannibal’s question. He looked up hoping that by seeing his face he would know his answer. But he was gone once more and Will did not find his answer. He felt ever so alone at that empty table. He felt cheated. He lost his appetite. He picked up the bowl and plate and entered the kitchen. He put the bowl and plate by the sink, he couldn’t bring himself to clean them up. He held onto the side of the kitchen surface and closed his eyes. _Could you be as patient for me as I was for you?_ Will breathed deeply and gripped harder.

“Is this a game to you? Is this fun to watch? Watch me stumble around for you, trying to provoke me, is that it? Do you think it’s fun to hide from me making me eat your soups leaving me notes but not letting me see you? Is this my punishment?! HANNIBAL” Will shouts at the empty house.

He felt the tears escape his eyes and he hated it, wiping them away as soon as they came. He felt like a child and he was fed up of playing. He remembered the notebook and he wondered if Hannibal had read it. It was something the bastard would do. He fell back onto the counter and looked to the ceiling. He had hit a cross-road. It felt like he was in limbo forever waiting for something that was never coming. He wanted to run out of the house and chase Hannibal down, to tear down the forest and every inch of earth till he was found. But he also felt chained round the neck with the house as his post. He felt every part defeated from an unknown enemy. He wasn’t sure if he could be so patient after all. A harrowing sound came from outside causing Will to jump to attention. He ran up to the window and was disgusted to see the doe again. For whatever reason Will really hated that doe, he could feel his hands bawl into fists while his mind imagined himself snapping its slender neck. _Extreme acts of cruelty require a high level of empathy_. Bedelia’s voice rang in his head like nails on a chalkboard. Bitch. The last person he wanted in his head was that woman and everything else she brought with her. Will watched vigilantly as the doe made its way away from the house back into the thicket of the forest. He slowly moved away from the window. He shook his head. He needed to distract himself from the anger he had cornered himself into. He went back into the living room and looked at what he could do. The bookcase drew his attention with all the different shapes and colours of books. He scanned the shelf seeing all types of books, crime novels, things about space, some classics and epics and even a few romances that made Will chuckle imagining Hannibal reading one of them. For all the variety he couldn’t make up his mind. He shut his eyes and reached out his hand to whatever book it came to. He pulled out a book titled ‘Pygmalion by Bernard Shaw’. A play then. He’d never seen the show but he did know it was what My Fair Lady was based on. A little light hearted banter would do him some good.

Will switched on the lamp and slumped into the red leather armchair to start the play. It was quite fun making up all the characters in his head, how they would speak and move their bodies. His awful cockney accent for Eliza put a silly smile on his face while making himself laugh trying to say “the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plane” one too many times in silly voices. He wondered if he could crack it like Eliza did and all of a sudden be the jewel of high society. In a strange way he felt quite a lot like Eliza, but with less singing. The way she’s treated and twisted to become something she didn’t feel comfortable with, when all she wanted was to work in a flower shop. Then after it all she was still left in the shadows, still just the cockney girl selling flowers from a basket. He very much felt like the lonely lost Eliza clinging to her hope and horror Higgins. He tried to tell himself that he was not an Eliza and Hannibal was not his Higgins, he was just reading too much into it. He supposed he did ‘crack it’ in a sense. A yawn overcame Will making him scrunch up his eyes and nose while his mouth gapped wide. He looked to the clock; six exactly. At least his back wasn’t hurting anymore. Will mused with himself if the antique clock was like one of those fancy Dutch ones that had little organs in them and played whole songs at certain hours. He couldn’t be asked to wait another hour to find out. He decided to end the day and returned to the little bedroom. Before retiring to bed Will opened up the notebook and jotted down notes about the forest and the little girl he saw. He attempted to draw some of the trees, the stag and the doe. Even in picture form he didn’t like it. A final yawn made him undress and slip into bed.

The pounding of his feet and his heart were in perfect sync while the rushing of blood in his ears and his own breath drowned all else out. He ran and ran as fast as he could into the darkness, cuts and bleeding wounds all over his pale naked body like the petals of a snowdrop against the night forest. The full moon reflecting off his skin. His eyes wide and teeth bared. The dreadful echoing sound of hooves followed him, chasing him. Will didn’t look behind him, he just kept running. He ran till his legs were on fire, his fingers shaking, his pulse ready to burst from under his skin. Finally, he could see the river bank, he was so close. But he was not destined to reach it. Milky white antlers pierce his body, ripping through his chest like bullets. His blood splashed and splayed in every direction, coating the antlers like paint. His eyes burst wide in shock and anger his mouth opened wide soundless, devastated. The mighty antlers lifted him into the air like he weighed nothing causing him to slip further down them, further away from freedom. The stag screamed its harrowing deafening scream into the night, the moon bearing down on the sacrifice before it. Will’s blood trickled down over his body, spreading over his face into his mouth and eyes. his body lifted into the air like a mockery. As it flipped him, he saw it. The doe. Will screamed his own deathly scream, not in pain but from blazing anger. A torrent of fury taking over his soul. He screamed and screamed until his face started to rip apart from the seam of his mouth up to his ears. His blood filling his mouth and throat coating his neck. He could scream no more, his blood choking him. His arms dropped beside him beautifully, like the neck of a bell flower. Everything around him ignited, red scorching flames engulfing all there was including him. his body burst into bright brilliant flames yet he didn’t flinch. His eyes were transfixed upon the doe, pure resentment and rage projecting from them. The wrath of a god filled his bones and ignited his passion. He could feel it consume his soul. But his eyes did not move for all that was happening; remaining solely on the doe. In that moment he swore to himself.

He would kill that doe.


	3. sing, O Muse, of the rage that brought countless ills upon them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will still waits for Hannibal but starts to become suspicious if he really is alone in the cabin

An irritating burning sensation was what eventually woke Will up in a blind rage. Flashing images of blood and fire torched his mind while his sweating body convulsed at the nagging pain in his muscles. Never before had Will wanted to punch something so badly in his life, not even Mason Verger’s face would have satisfied his passion. Rage was the only emotion he cared to feel as he pounced out of the bed and burst into the living room. He ran straight for the front door. He tugged and pulled furiously at the handle, but the door stayed firmly locked; no amount of grunting or heaving would scare it into opening. Not even Will’s primordial scream made it budge. It just stood and did what a door was supposed to do, and it annoyed the shit out of him. So much so, with no logical chain of thought, Will backed up with the intent to smash the door down with brute force. But before Will could fulfil his violent instincts, blonde hair and the smell of cheap red wine caught his attention.

“Believe me when I tell you, you will regret doing that. Besides what has that door ever done to you? I know you’re a reckless violent little thing but even so, I thought you’d have more respect for other people’s property.” Bedelia’s voice sobered his mood. He fixed his gaze hungrily on the perfectly composed therapist who sat with an odd grace in the armchair, a large glass of red wine in her hand and a smirk on her face. How he wished she was real so he could knock that glass of wine out of her hand and all over her dress. He clenched and stretched his hands pretending to strangle the air, it was as good an attempt as trying to strangle the hallucination itself. Of all the people he knew why would he hallucinate this bitch?! It felt sacrilegious.

“Perhaps your intense outburst of anger has caused your already disturbed and stressed mind to conjure up the thing you hate the most – me. I’m flattered. But we both know it should be that pretentious cannibal you’re so desperately pinning for.” Bedelia suggested with a smug smirk and condescending look. It only served to make Will even more annoyed. He felt very stupid for making himself so angry.

“I am not pinning for him.” Will reputed.

“Oh really? Well what’s that diary for then, your published memoires or a love letter to your secret suitor? Don’t pretend with me, you’re practically spreading your legs for him. Did that ship ever make its way into your harbour? Did it dock for long or was it only a short stay?” Bedelia mocked without trying to hide her amusement.

“NO. And you KNOW that you...” Will hesitated.

“You what? Worried he might hear you blaspheme? Wouldn’t want him to hear you being so rude now lest you end up in the belly of the beast. Ha, pathetic.” Bedelia replied talking advantage of Will’s slight hesitation. He hated the fact that his mind made her so sharp.

“You’re one to talk. I am not pinning for him I’m just… curious to know where he is. Besides the only reason _you’re_ here is because of that stupid doe, or I wouldn’t have to suffer your presence.” Will protested. His anger subsiding the more his attention became focused on trying to formulate coherent sentences instead of grunts.

“Why don’t you take a seat Will. It will be therapeutic for you if we discuss the doe, I am your psychiatrist after all.” Bedelia suggested.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Will sharply declined.

“You are in no state to do anything else. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Sit. Talk. Or simply listen. Just don’t go breaking down doors after you’ve fallen off a cliff.” Bedelia’s voice stayed calm and even never raising it. Perhaps she had a point.

Will, still tense and slightly shaking with left over rage, slumped onto the sofa. He gestured toward his psychiatrist to start.

“Thank you. Now, you had a rather nasty dream about a doe that has left you in this… uncivilised manner. This doe, it never actually hurt you did it? It was the stag that impaled you. The setting you on fire part, may have simply been your overtly dramatic imagination.” Bedelia said, her eyes carefully tracing each expression on Will’s face.

“You’re telling me what I already know.” Will interjected, regretting his decision.

“You have a history of not remembering the past very clearly, certain memories changing or being removed. Even memories being planted into your highly suggestive mind. It is an important first step to ascertain the truth of what happened, rather than what you remember.” Bedelia retaliated talking a long sip of her wine, confident in her position.

Will complied with a sigh. “Yes. That’s what happened. The doe just stood there it didn’t come near me. Yet it is the one I despise; the stag didn’t really cross my mind.”

Bedelia stayed silent for a moment. Carefully considering her response, all the while her eyes never removed themselves from Will. She finally answered “Perhaps then, due to your singular fascination and hatred, this doe is a representation of something or someone that you knew, were close to. Someone that was taken from you, in your dream you cannot reach them, yet you blame them for your suffering. The overseer of your demise. Given your previous track record of violence you may be believing that you are taking them back or denying another the experience of their existence. How touching of you.”

Will furrowed his brow at her response. He didn’t understand where she was going with her theory, especially any previous idea of fondness. “You’re wrong Dr Du Maurier, it doesn’t remind me of anyone. Don’t shoehorn my dreams into something they’re not.”

Bedelia took another slow deliberate draught of her wine. Will cursed himself for making her so annoying. The silence was cringe worthy and Will wanted some fresh air.

Bedelia finally spoke her words as slow and deliberate as her sip. “Do you think the doe is pretty Will?”

Her question caught him off guard. “Yes. Yes, it is pretty I suppose.” His confusion evident.

“It is often for the most beautiful of things that we will go to the most extreme, often violent ends to have them in our possession forever. Do you know what lengths a Victorian would go to, simply to have a butterfly displayed on their wall? First you have to squeeze the thorax of the butterfly, rendering it paralyzed but only temporarily; it is still alive and aware. To kill it, they would put it in something called a killing jar. Such a brutal name for a beautiful thing. Even the plaster used at the bottom of the jar is called plaster of Paris. They suffocate the butterfly with a chemical, a glass prisoned gas chamber. Once the killing is complete, you shape and mount your creation for all to marvel at. But it is a fragile line between beauty and destruction, squeeze too hard and you burst your butterfly, dry it out for too long and its wings will snap. No good for showing off.”

Bedelia paused, taking in Will’s mesmerised and intense face. She continued.

“Butterflies are often used in the notion of metamorphosis. When we die our souls simply flutter away like the final stage of a butterfly’s life; when she emerges from her chrysalis, she takes flight for the last journey of her mortal soul. They say when you see your first butterfly you should kill it, lest it land on your shoulder and you are the one killed.”

“I’m not following.” Will said.

Bedelia shifted in her chair before answering “You were warned about Hannibal on several occasions, yet you failed to kill him. You had him vulnerable there and then, you could have struck. Made death dead. All you needed to do was push him, but you didn’t. Now he has landed on your shoulder for the final time and you wait here to die.”

Will huffed at what Bedelia finally revealed, rolling his eyes as he got up from the sofa to pace around the room. It was the only thing stopping him from lunging at her and giving himself a headache.

“You’re insane. If Hannibal wanted me dead, he would have done it already, not keep me like a pet. Besides we’re discussing a doe not butterflies, and he is neither of them in this little metaphor of yours.” Will said defensive. He knew she had deliberately gone off track, lured him into talking about Hannibal. And he had fallen for it.

Bedelia cocked her head and looked out the window. A small smile emerged on her face. “No. I suppose he is not your doe. They symbolise innocence after all and we know all too well he is not that. Perhaps then it is meant to be another person of significance in your life. An innocent little doe that brought more trouble upon your head then the love you desperately wished for. Someone who you were also warned about from the day you met her and brought death upon your shoulder and, arguably, deserved her inevitable demise.” Bedelia suggested. She turned her head to look straight into Will’s eyes, her smile wider.

Will stopped pacing, realisation spreading over his face. _Abigail._

Will clenched his hands and asked, “Did Hannibal ever discuss Abigail with you?” Saying her name out loud sent a sharp wave down his spine. He thought this was a subject he would never talk about again, her memory buried in the deepest part of those catacombs. In that moment he perfectly understood the phrase opening old wounds. Old scared over and faded wounds.

Will wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, despite the irony, but it seemed Bedelia enjoyed being asked the question. “Yes. He did. He expressed feelings of paternalism when discussing her, she reminded him of his sister. I’m sure you know all about that. I on the other hand doubt the accuracy of the word paternal to describe his relationship to her, he did slit her throat after all. She was simply an important piece for his courting of you. Personal affection was displayed towards her only to receive personal affection from you. He knew your weak spot and exploited it expertly. In a way I admire it. I never met the girl, but I get irritated when talking about her, was she as weak as I’ve always thought she was?”

“Don’t talk about her like that” Will snapped. He took a deep breath to steady himself. After so long he thought he was at peace with her. Evidently not. “Hannibal felt like her father, just as I did.”

“That’s not quite true. I said he made her feel paternal. I never said paternal for her. She fanned an old flame Dr Lecter thought had died a long time ago. He enjoyed remembering those feelings.” Bedelia replied, taking the final sip of her wine licking her lips to get every last drop. Much to his hated but not surprise, Bedelia may have been right. Will had never thought about it that way before, his own intense feelings for Abigail clouding his judgement of others. He silently acknowledged she was right by staring out the window.

Bedelia continued “the flesh and blood Bedelia doesn’t know this but, considering the circumstances, this one does. Do you remember the moment Abigail confessed to you that she was the lure for her father?”

Will nodded remaining silent.

“Good. You felt so betrayed, so distraught by her lies you hallucinated impaling her on antlers; just as you felt impaled.” Bedelia reminded. “If I recall correctly you didn’t hesitate to do so. So overwhelmed by your anger you did what you felt was best, one might even say you enjoyed it. I would argue in that moment you understood what true forgiveness was.”

Will looked over towards the psychiatrist an eyebrow raised. “Is that you or Hannibal talking?” Will asked.

Bedelia smiled, “perhaps it is you who is talking considering I am not real, and you are talking to yourself?”

Will’s expression hardened at her response. “I don’t need to resort to violence to ‘forgive’ someone. Words will do. Not everything has to be like the opera.” Will retorted. Not entirely convinced of his own response.

“But that’s exactly what Hannibal wants. The high theatre. The drama on the stage of life and he is the grand director of it all, even having an affair with the main character.” Bedelia mocked.

Will retaliated “and the supporting actors”.

Bedelia gave a condescending grin. “No matter your actions Hannibal will return. And he will have little patience for being betrayed a second time, third if you’re keeping score. When he does, I highly suggest you have left before his foot even gets to the porch; follow my example on that one. I’m still alive after all.” Bedelia warned, her sincerity unexpected.

“Again, if Hannibal wanted me dead, he would have done it already.” Will replied.

Bedelia leaned back in her chair and raised her empty wine glass. “Alright. But I warn you. No fool makes a deal with the devil, the fool too much a fool and the devil too much a devil. Be a fool Will.” Her voice became a whisper at the end.

Will turned away and looked out the window, the darkness of deep night slowly giving way to the dusky darkness of the early morning. He guessed it was around 2am. Bedelia’s words were hard to digest both due to Will’s deep distain of the woman and his reluctance to accept the truth. Whether he realised it was the truth or not. His anger had subsided and given way to a more manageable distain allowing him to think a little more clearly. The look of the woods was appealing, the openness and high sky made him long for fresh air even more. He turned around to give his final insults to Bedelia but there was only an empty armchair. His mind had conceded, and she was gone. His mind really knew how to irritate him the most. He scowled and looked back out of the window. She was wrong. She had to be, the conversation was simply his mind trying to express its concern and who better to annoy him than _the other woman_? The doe was not Abigail he told himself. Silly associations. Will sighed at his thoughts; he wasn’t convinced by any of them. His love for Abigail had died with her on that kitchen floor, all that was left was a poor imitation of those feelings. Will shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. Instead he wanted to get himself something to eat then go for a walk. He wanted routine. 

Will took himself away from the window and into the kitchen to see what he could make. He opened the crisp metal fridge and spotted some eggs. Scrambled eggs would do. He took out 3 and placed them by the stove, he searched for a pan and bowl and prepared his meal. The methodical motions of cracking the eggs and stirring them were a welcome distraction, it made Will feels focused and purposeful. Better than allowing his thoughts to wonder wherever they pleased. When his eggs were cooked to his liking, and a little seasoning added, he took his breakfast to the living room and turned on the radio. It took a moment of spinning the little wheel to find a station that wasn’t muffled, the one he settled on had a deep male voice reading the news, informing people of the day’s woes and worries. Will pondered how many other people were listening too. Who were they, what were they doing, do they listen intensely or simply tune in and out like Will was while eating eggs? Nothing peaked Will’s interest that the smooth reporters voice told him, coat tailing politicians, politics, bad politics, a big company getting sued for tax fraud, good politics. If Will hadn’t just woken up from a coma after falling off a cliff with the serial killer cannibal who was in love with him, he may have found it important to listen to. But the only thing that played on Will’s mind was Hannibal. He wanted to hear his name said by someone other than himself or his hallucinations. He wanted to be convinced it had all happened and this was real. Hear his voice. Touch his skin. See his face. _Know you’re there._ When Will finished his eggs and nothing remotely linked to either of them came on the radio he gave up. He knew it was better if nothing was said about them publicly, the easier it would be for them to blend back into society. The rationalisation didn’t help the empty feelings in his stomach.

He sighed as he lifted himself up from the sofa to the kitchen to wash up. The tiniest hint of morning seeping through the blinds. In an odd way it was comforting to know that the world was still turning, that nature still continued, and each day was a new one to live through. For so long Will felt like the world was stagnant, each day different yet the same. It surprised him how renewed he felt knowing that today was not yesterday. He smiled to himself a little and turned on the tap, he placed his hand under the water waiting for it to arrive to the right temperature. He looked to the left of the sink and his smile left him. He felt his blood rush around his body in realisation to what he was looking at, or more correctly, what he wasn’t. Last night’s bowl and plate were gone. Except Will didn’t remember washing them up and putting them away. Because he didn’t, and he knew he didn’t. Will was transfixed by the vanishing crockery and what it meant. _Hannibal?!_

“Fuck!” Will shouted suddenly quickly retracting his hand from the scorching water. His fingers red and blotchy. He fanned them in pain and annoyance, he tried sucking them in hopes that his cooler mouth would help with the stinging pain. It didn’t really. He huffed and leaned back on the counter and put his face in his hands trying not to scream. Nothing was making sense. Why on earth would Hannibal sneak into the house to do domestic chores?! Sure he’s neat but this was on another level of weird. It made Will think what else had Hannibal done while Will was asleep. Or maybe it wasn’t Hannibal. Will became uneasy at the thought. He looked through his hands around him unsure if he was alone anymore. _Do you still have family left?_ Will shuddered suddenly feeling like he was being watched. Will didn’t know if there was something wrong with the world or with him again. He hoped it wasn’t him. Which gave Will an idea. He took a deep breath and placed the plate and other kitchen ware into the sink without washing them up. He looked at them for a moment then went into the living room to see what the time was. 5 o’clock. _My name is Will Graham, it is 5am, and I have not washed up that plate._ He took a careful look around the empty room, nothing but the sound of the ticking clock and chirping birds. He took another deep breath through his nose but stopped halfway through, repulsed by what he smelt. How he did not smell his own sweat earlier was a testament to how furious he had been. A shower was in order.

Will tugged off his damp shirt as he climbed the stairs and stopped when he saw one of the bedroom doors open. He looked to ‘Hannibal’s’ door which was shut. He frowned a little, his mind curious as to why the other door was open. He stood in the doorway and surveyed the room. Everything seemed in its proper place, everything untouched. The blue sheets on the bed were neatly tucked and spread. No sign of anyone sleeping in them. The cream bedside table had a little dust on it and a black jug also dusty and unused. He looked around a little more, the bird and branch wallpaper glistening slightly as the morning light found its way into the room. Perhaps Will just forgot to close the door the last time he was up here. Perhaps. Will made sure to close the door this time exaggerating his movements. When he was happy that the door was shut and that nothing was faulty with the handle, he went into the bathroom to have his overdue shower. While he waited for the water to warm up, he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. He was neither pleased nor repulsed by what he saw. He examined his cheek and was relieved to see that most of the swelling had gone down, but the cut itself was still as red and raw looking as the night he received it. The wound didn’t look or feel open, but instead of his skin looking pierced it looked like someone had scooped out a line of his flesh. Almost like ice cream. Will’s curiosity wouldn’t relent, he moved his fingers over the cut gently at first. When he felt nothing, he increased the pressure until he was poking it like a child. It didn’t hurt one bit. It was both a relief and a concern; he wondered what Hannibal had put in the eggs. Will felt the heat of his fingers over the cut and the light pressure he was putting on it. He felt an overwhelming urge to shove his fingers into it, through the other side and into his mouth. He was glad his own smell was too distracting. Will sighed and stepped into the shower happy to feel the comforting water over his skin.

When Will was thoroughly cleansed, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed downstairs to get dressed. He couldn’t resist a peak into the kitchen. All items were still in the sink and unwashed. Interesting. Will dressed in a thick navy-blue jumper and some simple trousers, both soft on his skin. He took a quick look at the time on the grandfather clock before sitting down at the little desk to write in the book.

__

_It is 6:30am. I don’t know what day or date. I had a nightmare about being impaled by a stag and then being set on fire, yet that is not at the top of my list of concerns. What is, is that fact that this house has self-cleaning and vanishing crockery. The bowl and plate from last night are gone. I am 99% sure I was not the one that made that happen. I either don’t remember it, which let’s be honest is quite plausible, or I didn’t do it. Which opens up a whole other avenue of possibilities. The theories are that either Hannibal has decided that he doesn’t want to talk to me but is willing to do the chores or it is someone else entirely. A family member, a friend, a stranger even. I honestly don’t know and am not positive if I want to know. Whoever they are they care enough about their anonymity to only do it when I’m asleep. They’re quiet, considerate even about not disturbing me, they want me to think that I’m the only person in the house. They hoped I wouldn’t notice. They don’t want to be focused on. I can understand that. It’s not much to go on but, they don’t want to be known. They prefer being unnoticed. Or maybe they’ve just gotten used to it. It’s something a mother would do, or a partner. So in other words, I highly doubt it’s Hannibal. Which gets me nowhere. Where are you Hannibal? God please don’t be dead. That would be what I deserve thought wouldn’t it? The dramatic irony of life._

_I’ve put some more things in the kitchen sink. A test if you will. I’m gonna go for a walk and either when I come back it will be gone, or it’ll still be there. That should tell me more about whoever our little dishwasher is._

_I hate does._

Will sighed closing the book and pen. He wasn’t sure if he was crazy or tiered. Both perhaps. Will felt himself lay his head down on the desk and folded his arms into a pillow. His mind created different images of who his little helper could be; a woman, young but not youthful. A rare and beautiful smile, skin like brandy. Something familiar yet foreign; a warmth you can’t place but know so well. Will’s eyes slowly closed themselves and he dossed off to the thoughts of his mystery person.

_

Will wasn’t sure when it started, but when it did it was all he could focused on. Panting. The strong determined panting of a man, deep and rough. The periodic sound of something being dragged. Leaves crumpling and twigs snapping under strong feet as they marched to a rhythm. The smell of pine and cypris overcame him along with the notorious scent and feeling of rain. Will could barely open his eyes like another force was trying to clamp them shut. He could just about make out the dark disturbing green of trees in the night, tall and overbearing. The rain distorted him; cold and distracting. His hands brushed the floor, numb, unsure if he was touching damp soil. He could hardly feel his body yet was aware of its existence. His head facing the dark monstrous sky while rain pounded his face like tiny punches. In the distance the sound of quick feet on wood interrupted the sound of dragging.

“Oh my God, do you need help?!” A muffled voice broke through, Will didn’t know where. The sound of thunder, god-like and overpowering, threw Will into reality as he woke startled by his dream. His heart pounding almost as fast as the rain. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He took a strong breath to calm himself. He really needed some fresh air.

Will slowly put on his coat, a little dizzy from his sudden awakening, and left the house to take another walk through the mysterious forest that surrounded him. The path didn’t appeal to him, instead he wanted to go wherever his feet lead him. It was a small but freeing action for Will and he much preferred it from his last adventure. The air was crisp, pleasant and refreshing with a slight chill but not too cold. It felt like Will was breathing new life into himself with the forest air, clearing his muddled mind and enjoying the scenery. A rare treat. He thought to himself about his dream, if it even was a dream. The sounds and smells were all so vivid, it felt more like a memory than the fabrication of his mind. Each moment felt like one he had been through before, yet Will couldn’t identify when. The voice he heard he didn’t recognise, with or without it being muffled, he was sure it was one of a stranger. But the voice behind the panting felt familiar. There was a coarseness to it that Will had heard before, but he couldn’t place where. He didn’t let it frustrate him, he simply allowed all thoughts to disappear from his mind for the moment and instead enjoyed his walk.

Along he went through the forest and in between trees, whistling to himself with a slow and relaxed gate. If you were to cross paths with him, you would never have known what Will had been through nor the darkness that had been set free inside him. One would feel comfortable, relaxed even despite meeting in the woods alone. For once Will stayed out of his own head enjoying the serendipity of his surroundings; the perfect stillness of this strange forest. He felt that he and the forest were similar, enthralling and when you dare to enter its doors, full of surprises. Will chuckled at himself, he had never called himself enthralling before and it amused him greatly. _Hannibal would certainly have enjoyed that._

A sudden crunching sound underneath his feet quickly removed any feelings of calmness. The snapping sound was unusual, not that of a branch. It sounded denser its echo heavier. Will looked down to see what he had stepped on and beneath his foot was bone. His eye widened as he saw that the bone was connected to a rotten half eaten corpse of a doe, skin still clinging to its hollow body and putrid flesh left uneaten, unpalatable by its consumer. An eye bulged from its socket leaking and bloated. Moss had started to grow on the carcass, if it wasn’t evident enough, it had been there for a long time festering in its own filth. Will didn’t flinch at what he saw, just stared. The carcass didn’t come as a shock. It wasn’t unusual to see dead animals in a forest such as this, Will was sure there were wolves in occupancy due to the size of the place and the climate. Half eaten animals came as part and parcel to places of untamed natural beauty. Quite how he didn’t see it before made him rub his eyes in case he was seeing things. Will opened his eyes and frowned as he looked deeper at the deceased doe, despite its decrepit appearance, there was an elegant to it. Laying in a bed of crimson flowers and the scent of honeysuckle circling its body. The trees providing shelter from sun and rain. It was like something from a painting, so still and perfect. Will closed his eyes, he was not much of a man of faith but in that moment, he felt close to Hannibal. He could feel a part of him connected to Hannibal as if he was looking at the doe through Will’s mind and smiling with him. Will hoped that didn’t mean he was dead. _Do you fish or do you hunt?_ The memory whispered to him, a faint sigh of hope and despair like seeing your childhood home but all traces of you removed as if you never existed. Will opened his eyes and looked beside him, Abigail stood next to him shaking with terror and knowing. Her skin as pale as the day she died. Will stared into her eyes, he felt everything and nothing. He had laid her to rest too many times.

“I didn’t know what else to do so I just did what he told me.” Abigail said in a tremoring voice.

“I bet you wish you never met me?” Abigail asked, her voice stronger now.

_Yes._ Will thought in his mind, it came as quick and harsh as a whip. He looked away from her longing face. _You never loved me Abigail, you never wanted me, never wanted what I could give you._ Will quelled his aching anger, long and tired, an old flame ready to give out.

_You should have died in that kitchen with your freak of a father where you belong._

A harsh malicious voice rang in his head, hissing and spiting from the darkest depths of his mind. It didn’t sound like him, rather like someone using his voice or trying to imitate it. He shook his head and looked back to Abigail. She was gone. Will let go of his breath, sighing deeply. He wasn’t sure if he was sorry or indifferent, it had been so long since he had even heard her name that thinking about her did not make him feel how he expected. His former self would had longed for her approval, her connection. But Will was long past clutching for connections to people who did not understand him nor want him. He looked at the final resting place of the little doe and wished it peace. He turned his back upon it and return home.

The familiar smell of rain gathered in the air as dark brooding clouds made their way towards the cabin. Tiny warm droplets landed on his ear and cheeks warning him to speed up if he wished to stay dry. Will didn’t need the encouragement, he wanted to crawl under the covers of his bed and wait for Hannibal. Entering the cabin, he threw the front door key onto the cabinet and shrugged off his coat. He would have screamed had he not felt so weary. Will looked to his left and his eyes opened wide, mystified by what was before him. A little blue teacup sat on the edge of the dining table. Will had to stop himself from skipping he was so eager to get close to the cup. Peering into it Will saw that it was filled was a strange black tea, so dark that all he could see was his own reflection. Will immediately became suspicious and hopeful at the little cup’s existence.

“It wouldn’t be the first time he has used psychotropic hallucinogenic drugs to induce a state of vulnerability and high suggestiveness within a patient. Nor the first with you.” Bedelia’s slow and bitter voice said. He could hear the distain in her face.

“It doesn’t look like something I’ve ever seen before, no phencyclidine, and I personally don’t picture Hannibal picking mushrooms.” Will said.

“You’d be surprised.” Bedelia answered. “If you’re so curious as to what it is, why don’t you find out?”

“Are you insane?!” Will retorted.

“No. You are though. Which is why you are talking to me. If Hannibal wanted you dead then you would have died in that kitchen. Isn’t that what you said to me?” Bedelia taunted.

Will huffed, cursing his own memory and imagination. “And you said he was no stranger to playing with his food.”

Bedelia raised her eyebrow in triumph “not poisoning it.”

Will was on the brink now. So many unanswered questions and so many hallucinations had chipped away his patience. All Will wanted was Hannibal; in front of him and to touch him. He had played this game for so long that he was fed up with it. Winning didn’t matter anymore. He picked up the teacup and held it up.

“If you’re watching me then you know that I am sick of this. You couldn’t leave me alone for 5 minutes before this but now you don’t even want to be near me?! If you’re doing this because I threw us off a cliff then I’m sorry, OK! I wasn’t trying to kill you. Believe it or not I was trying to do what was best for us. Use that high-powered perception of yours and try to understand my side; I can forgive you for everything you did to me for all those years, but you can’t forgive me for one thing! And something that was actually done for us! No more Hannibal, I have given up everything for you so now it’s time to decide. I’m going to drink this. For you. Whatever you want or need from me, this is your chance, because if you don’t come out from wherever you’re hiding then I’m not going to look for you. I’m not. This is your last chance.”

Will lifted the cup to his lips and drank. He instantly regretted his decision the moment the liquid ran down his tongue and into his throat. His pupils dilated into tiny dots. The tea was so bitter and stale it reminded him of childhood medicine that had been left in the sun; a parent lovingly shoving it down their child’s throat – for your own good. Will choked and spluttered on the tea, staining his teeth and lips black like ink. His body felt rigid and numb, he fell to the floor in compulsive spasms, his chest fidgeting uncontrollably while his hands were locked in position. He could feel himself losing consciousness, his eyes quickly blacking over like someone was putting their hands over them. _Maybe he really is trying to kill me then._

_

It was the gentle breeze on his skin that woke Will up, and the cold touch of the ground beneath his body. He opened his eyes and saw the moon, full and bright watching attentively to all that was below her. It felt like she was watching Will. The sound of an animal in distress brought him back to earth. He sat up as quickly as he could to find the animal. Right before him was a doe, its fragile limbs tied together with strong shinning rope. Metal maybe. Its belly rose and fell rapidly while its large black eyes scuttled everywhere praying for help. Will thought it would die of shock. He became aware of his own breathing starting to get faster; its nerves making his nervous. Will jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, he looked behind him and saw what he had so desperately wanted. Hannibal. Crouched and smiling his cat like smile, always with a plan, always knowing. Hannibal cupped his chin and stroked his jaw, staring into Will’s eyes. Will was captivated, dumbfounded by his desire, for Hannibal to really be there and touching him. Everything he wanted and more. Hannibal’s face was embellished with fresh blood dripping from his perfect cheekbones. A small smudge on his lips making them look redder and plumper. Will gently opened his own lips to speak but Hannibal ran his thumb over them and hushed him, the soft sound of his voice sending tingles down his neck and on the top of his head.

“Don’t speak Will. Everything is as it should be.” Hannibal whispered to him, like an ancient secret being passed on.

Hannibal moved in even closer to Will wrapping an arm around his torso gently, there was no pressure but it trapped Will all the same in Hannibal’s deadly embrace. Will felt like he had been here before. Except this time the knife was in his hand. Will look down and saw it, gleaming in the moonlight.

“Have you ever heard the story of the daughter of Jephthah Will?” Hannibal asked gently, in that curious way he always used when they were in therapy sessions together.

Will shook his head, breathing in Hannibal’s scent. His eyes wandering all over his face. Hannibal smiled.

“‘ _The first thing to come out of my house I shall offer as a burnt offering to god’._ And what was the first _thing_ to come out of the house? Nothing less than his only beloved daughter, come to dance and worship her father in his hubris. Thus, she was paraded to the mountain top and burnt in god’s name. _I_ don’t need a sacrifice Will, but when god demands will you deliver?” Hannibal told Will. He helped Will get to his feet and turned them to face the terrified doe.

Will, his breath shaky, gripped the knife tighter and stared unwavering at the dainty doe. His heartbeat strong and demanding. Will crept towards it, a hum in his ears getting louder the closer he got, like wasps swarming around him in stereo. He looked back to Hannibal who stayed in the shadows of the trees, away from the cleansing light of the moon. Hannibal smiled and caused Will to faulter; it wasn’t Hannibal’s smile. Will couldn’t place why but the more he looked at Hannibal the less he recognised him, as if he were a poor imitation of himself. But the humming in his ears became unbearable. He shut his eyes tight and shook his head in hopes that everything would make sense again. All sounds; the humming, his breath, the screaming of the doe. They all became overwhelming and encompassing, when suddenly all sound stopped. All sensations seized. Will opened his eyes to see that the knife and doe was gone. The patch of grass where it laid flattered by its weight. Will turned around in confusion, unsure if this was a dream or a hallucination; the line between them almost destroyed. A knowing feeling spread across his body when he saw her. Abigail stood before him dressed in a white dress, Greek looking, her dark hair soft over her ivory shoulders.

“Would you have liked to have killed the doe?” Abigail asked, no tremble in her voice this time.

A weak yes escaped Will’s throat.

“Would it have felt like killing me?” Abigail also asked, more hesitantly this time.

Will thought about his answer, careful about what he should say. “It would have felt freeing”.

“Freeing yourself from me?” Abigail asked in a sad tone as if she already knew the answer.

“Freeing _you_ from me.” Will answered quickly. “There is nothing else I can do for you Abigail. That… fantasy died a long time ago, with that version of us that died on that kitchen floor.”

Abigail surprisingly didn’t look surprised. She almost looked happy. She looked down for a moment in that childlike way when you were too nervous to ask your parent something. She finally raised her head and asked “Will you finally free yourself from Hannibal too?”

Will looked up at the moon, their witness, the secret keeper of their union. He sighed “When it comes to me and Hannibal, neither one of us can free ourselves from each other without… dire consequences. At least I can give you in my mind what I couldn’t out of it. I can give you back your life, something I forfeited a long time ago.”

Abigail’s content face turned to nerves, disappointed at the answer. She fumbled with her hands and furrowed her brow trying to think of something to say. “After everything, you’d still go to him?”

Will laughed a little and walked up to Abigail. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek leaving it there. “I thought that was my line.”

Abigail looked him in the eyes, her pupils small and afraid. Will leaned in closer to her causing Abigail to soften in confusion. She looked at his lips.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” Will whispered to her, placing his other hand on her soft delicate cheek.

Abigail closed her eyes waiting for the kiss. Will moved his hands slowly down to her neck. And squeezed. Abigail’s eyes widened in shock and horror at what was happening. Will, unflinching, continued to squeeze harder and harder, his hands becoming numb with the pressure. Abigail could only squeak half screams as her life was pushed out of her. She fell to the hard ground where the doe had been, Will continuing to strangle her, straddling her body. Abigail’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as her heart beat faster and faster in the shock and terror. Will mercilessly gripping her throat kept going and going when suddenly Abigail’s entire body burst underneath him, his hands hitting each other. Blood sprayed everywhere over Will and the forest floor where her body use to be. Will shut his eyes and basked in the fresh blood over his slightly shaking body. Euphoric and unapologetically ecstatic. Will lifted his head to the moon, his trusty witness, and closed his eyes.

Perhaps Bedelia was right after all.


End file.
